Plain and Simple
by H4ppyHippie
Summary: Bella can't take anymore, she only sees one option to escape the wrath of the Cullens. Will they see the error of their ways before it's too late? Or will they finally get their wish : No more Bella Swan.
1. Chapter 1

Everyone has an idea of their own personal hell. For some people it may be performing to a large audience, for others it could include being nude in public or even having your journal read aloud on national TV. However for yours truly I get to live mine almost every single day of my dull miserable life. Now, although I'd like to say that I don't complain about my life as there are always other people worse off than you, I can't. Call me a brat, call me ungrateful, you could even go as far as to call me self centred but sometimes nothing beats feeling sorry for your ungrateful, bratty, self centred arse. Sitting in one's room, wallowing in self pity and disgust. It's just human nature if you ask me. It wouldn't matter if you did insult me with names like those though, I'm called worse on a daily basis.

No I'm not trying to gain sympathy points this is just my sad excuse for a life. I'm 16 years old and for the past 2 and a half years I have lived through torture in the form of Forks high school. Yes I know high school is considered the worst part of any teenager's life however my first experience was a walk in the park in comparison to the danger I face just by attending this wretched hell hole. Although my parents were originally from this ancient isolated town, after tying the knot they decided to ditch the harsh climate of dreary Forks and head to the sunny state of Arizona. A few years down the line spent soaking up the sun then Little Old Me came bounding out. Growing up I couldn't have asked for a better upbringing. We lived contently in our quaint community, everyone's kids hanging out together like one oversized foster family. Almost entire town barbecues where anyone that could come did. Everybody was friends with everybody they just welcomed newcomers in with open arms.

Oddly enough I looked forward to the right of passage called high school, finally being surrounded by peers who could hold an intelligent conversation, people who had read more than Charlotte ' s Web and had a thirst for knowledge just like me. And yes I know that sounds incredibly nerdy and naive but that's just how I am by nature. A curiosity that could rival that mischievous monkey Curious George my Mom always says. When I finally got my wish fulfilled, well let's just say it left a lot to be desired. Conversions filled with intellectual ideas and opinions were replaced by gossip about who was dating who and why all the seniors were covered in love bites. Pupils indulging in heated debates about their interpretations of poetry were swapped in favour of one unenthused teacher endlessly droning on about the importance of practicing safe sex to a classroom full of hormone pumped kids practically dry humping each other's legs.

Nevertheless I was determined to make it work I was satisfied with the life I had. I had friends sure, although none that I considered close. At school I wasn't unpopular I just prefered to keep a distance from the never ending cycle of drama that gravitated around my fellow peers. I hid in the shadows finding solace in the warm and welcoming environment of the school library with all the other poor souls who couldn't take hearing about how two juniors were caught sneaking out from behind the bleachers again. We were delighted to be smothered by an infinite amount of books away from prying eyes, comforted by each word we read and each page turned.

It was only a few easily forgettable months in when my parents were informed that My Dad's Mother Isabella (who I was named after in an unsuccessful bid to regain some chance of a reconciliation between my Grandmother and my parents ) had unfortunately passed away. Strangely My Dad had be never been too fond of My Grandmother I had detected that this was because she despised My Mother and took great pleasure in reminding My Father that getting married that young would only result in divorce. It was soon announced that the Swan family would make their grand return to Forks only this time a companied by their clumsy shrew of a daughter. This was only meant to be a temporary arrangement but in typical Swan fashion plans are rarely followed through. My parents wanted to recreate all their childhood memories of how they fell in love. Who was I to stand in the way? Maybe this was what I had been waiting for, the chance to finally achieve my goal of a conversation with actually substance. Of course I misplaced my trust in the humanity (and intelligence) of the residents of Forks.

My parents are what can only be described as hippies. As Swans we do things the only way we know how: alternatively. We grow our own food, make our own clothes and most importantly stick it to the man (Whoever he is) by not following convention. My parents married straight out of school, ran away choosing not to attend college, instead making their dream become reality by creating art and selling it. They also broke all convention by not getting divorced when they grew older but only further defied it by falling more and more in love each passing day. Another essential trademark Swan feature is not fitting in. I followed in my parent's footsteps, they were also outcasts at Forks decided to not partake what seemed to be the traditional Forks resident pass time: gossip. We both would much rather camp outside like the wild ones we are, sitting round a camp fire listening to My Dad retell the tribal legends he was lucky enough to hear from his old friend. Moments like those seem like single time I don't have to constantly check over my shoulder for any passing danger.

In the loosest term possible I'm bullied. I prefer to use the terms tortured, antagonised, tormented or persecuted. Bullied seems to make it sound like the occasional teasing, a slight light hearted shove in the corridor or something that only occurs as a joke. It presents it as something that you should expect to witness or be some part of rather than daily abuse hurled at you for purely existing. Undeserved hostility that shadows you like a dark storm cloud, unwarranted anger from people who don't even know your first name. As I said this has been my life for the past two and a half years. Nothing could have prepared me for what I was going to come face to pitiful face to in this seemly unnoticeable town.

As much as it pains me I believe I should begin my treacherous tale with the supposed cause of why tormentors feel they have reason to treat me like this. I was new, I was different, I wasn't like them so therefore I was worthy of their hate. I will let you imagine how my first day of school went. An innocent fresh faced fourteen year old girl who up until that point had lead a fairly sheltered life meets the diabolical Cullens. The Cullens, all five of them are to me Satan in carnet. Two lessons of awkward introductions and curious stares fixated on my every movements ready and waiting to report back to their leaders.

At lunch they surrounded me like vultures scouting out the fresh meat. Each of them sat with perfect posture around the table I had commandeered. One by one they took their turns assessing if I was anything special or worthy of their precious attention. They then chose to finally speak and demanded answers, firing questions at me.

When they asked if I was interested in the same bands as them and I answered with the bands that my parents brought me up on like Velvet Underground and Lou Reed, they shared looks of shock.

When they asked me where I got my clothes and if I brought from the same brands as them and I answered that I had never heard of D&G, Super dry or Jack Wills and that my Mother made all my clothes, they all had looks of disgust on their perfect faces.

When they asked what T.V shows I watched and I answered honesty stating that we didn't have a T.V, they each formed a sinister smirk a companied by despicable glint that appeared in their eyes.

And finally when they asked if I had ever had a boyfriend and if not why and all I said was that I never wanted one, they passed a single whisper between them in a line then swiftly picked their trays up and dispersed.

By the end of the day no one dare speak to me ,only harsh whispers followed me down the halls complete with stares filled with pity or revolt. I think then was when it hit me that Forks was going to be an experience I was never going to forget whether I wanted to or not. Up until this day it has only worsened. It build up from cruel comments about how my parents and I were backwards freaks who were more like animals than humans to having my clothes stolen in gym and having to wait like a sitting duck for the pity of one of the older girls like Angela Webber who would bring them to me when no one was looking. I'm not even safe from the rage of the boys either, Emmett, Jasper and Edward tend to stick to less physical abuse , I think their favourite game is to see how worthless and unwanted they can make me feel each day. Snide comments about how no one in their right mind would date me or how much of a disappointment I must have been to my parents.

Alice and Rosalie each have their own personal way to torture me on a daily basis. Alice being a complete fashioneasta that she is takes the responsibility of making sure that if I didn't already hate myself I do after she's spoken to me. I say spoken to me but that would sound to much like we're equal, no she talks down to me as if I'm worst than the dirt on her shoes which she loves to remind me probably cost more than what my life is worth. With Mom and Dad being artists and Forks not being known for its artistic prestige, they had to get regular jobs. My Dad works at the local garage with his old friend Billy Black, my Mom was able to get a job helping out at the community college with their art course. Neither job is very well paid but we make do, with no T.V , computer or need to buy new clothes money is spent on what we really need. So fancy designer clothing is the last thing on our list.

Rosalie is a whole new level of monstrous ungodly rage. Able to manipulate every simple mind at Forks High School to follow her around like mindless sheep this is her domain and she wants you to know that. She is the exemplary example of the perfect amount of emotional trauma and physical violence to inflict on one person to make them see only one option. No injuries have got to the point where I have to seek medical attention yet but I don't doubt I will soon.

I've been pushed, shoved , kicked, poked and thrust toward this and now I can't see a way out. Every day is just one terrified ordeal after the next. My mind is a cyclone of hate towards them and myself, worries that maybe this will be the day they take it too far or what ifs, what if I had made more of an effort to fit in and change myself for them like everyone else in the emotionless town. I know for certain that if I am forced to live through another year of this it will end in me taking a life with a high chance of it not being my own.

That's why it has to end, that's why. I need the words of self hate and disappointment to stop stalking me, they follow me ready to pounce on their prey so I need to finally take the power back. I've come to the conclusion that the only solution is to end my life myself that way it's my choice and I finally have something **they** have no control over. They didn't throw me too the sharks I dived in head first.


	2. Chapter 2

Now that the decision was finalised all I needed was to formulate a plan. It sounds so practical, so formal, so cold. I'm taking my own life, removing myself from this earth full of hate and pure greed forever and all it took was for me to stand out from the crowd. All it took was five people to notice how I didn't match their expectations of what a 'normal' teen was and decide they weren't alright with that. As kids we're told to be ourselves and enjoy the life we've been gifted, to be grateful for the privileges we receive just by being born in this country. That factor alone is forgotten by most as soon as we reach a state of happiness, we ignore the suffering of others to live our own lives to the fullest. I'm not blaming anyone I myself have definitely overlooked others when I have felt that my own needs have trumped theirs. However now I'm in their position I can clearly see that having someone turn a blind eye when you're going through hell breaks you down a little more inside.

Not to say that some people haven't tried to reach out to me, by people I mean the types of teachers who are continously trying to one up each other. Scavenging for some kind of edge over the competition so they can get the most recent promotion. Admitting you've been considering ending your own to someone who is willing for the hour of therapy to end quickly so they can get their hands on the paycheck isn't the most appealing option.

Now the Cullens may not be the most academia of students but they each have their own toolbelt of secret talents, including intimidation, deception, manipulation and although I don't place in in the category of talent , they have money. Above all else money is the thing that held the most power here in Forks. I believe the Cullens know the pain they inflict on me is wrong but I'm sure they think I'll become one of those sob stories you hear years in the future about how I was bullied in school but overcame it and now live a happy life. I know that will not be the case. It's strange to think I'll never reach adulthood, never buy my first car, never write the children's book I always dreamed of. I don't entertain those thoughts for long they let the darker ideas through, for example how my parents will never see me graduate high school, my Dad never having the opportunity to walk me down the isle , my parents never again having the chance of grandkids. No those thoughts stay locked away for as long as I am able to keep them at bay.

Home is where the heart is, right? Well my parents are my heart, now I know I'm undeniable bias but I've never come across a couple more united, more together than them. To put it simply, they complete each other. As a child they always questioned me what my dream for when I grew up was, I have never answered with anything other than an author. As the years flew by they continued to ask each time making sure I didn't give up on my child like hopes. They belived that was how we keep our hearts pure from greed and kept us grounded, to still have hope for the future we wanted before we knew and practiced ideas like jealousy and anger. I just wish I knew I have lived a life like they wanted, no matter how short.

A family of introverts makes us very aware of our surroundings, it's a wonder they haven't already detected what has been happening yet. I don't doubt they're suspicious of why I never even mention school unless to escape detection. Home is my safe haven, safe from glares of disgust, looks of pity and gazes oozing curiosity. Walking the schools halls has become the event of the day, the time to scrutinise Swan's every move, how her flowing hippie clothes and unkempt hair give off the front of someone who lived in the wilderness her entire life. The time to deem which type of abuse she will endure today , maybe physical or emotional, how about both? The physical trauma usually consists of either being thrust into any tough surface available or the indescribable yanking of my below waist length hair. Or if I'm really unlucky they opt to destroy as many of my books as humanly possible. The only upside to this my well known love of books is an easy cover story for my constant purchase of them compared to the black and blue bruises that litter my delicate snow white skin. Rosalie seems to be the reoccurring offender of these attacks however Alice has be known to occasionally part take when she's had a particularly bad day.

Bruises and broken books pale in comparison to the never ending stream of overflowing insults they have for me. To damage another human's body and possessions is one thing but to poison their mind is another matter. Time spent with my parents is like a shield from the negative thoughts that cloud my mind daily, a dome of security that can't be breached by anything. More of my useless time could be devoted to spending my last days with them however with me avoiding any kind of social gathering it is easier said than done. Being out in the open leaves my mind open and vulnerable to the unpredictable thoughts seeping back in.

Although it is rather gruesome I guess I will have to make a choice about what method to use. I think cutting my wrists will be the most successful, my innate fear of water removes drowning from the equation. I've never handled blood well but I'm faithful this will work to my advantage, if I faint as soon as I smell the blood I expect I should be able to pass relatively peacefully. Research is as limited as my resources with no computer and the high risk of being caught using the school's. All I wish for is that my parents find me when I have finished bleeding out, I know a gulity conscience of not being able to save me will reek further havoc than finding me already passed on. At least that's what I wish for.

I'm aware that I'm taking the coward's way out, although considered the circumstances I belive I'm in titled to some leeway on how I choose to escape the hell refered to as my life. My parents raised me to be a pacifist however I'm uncertain my Dad will continue to follow this belief once he finds out why his sweet little girl took her own life. I know that by taking this way out I'm forfeiting any chance I have of a future but I just can't bring myself to listen to logic anymore. My mind is on an unstoppable track with no brakes. Guilt floods throughout me when I reflect on the consequences of my selfish actions, I just hope that the only two people in this world who have shown me what true love is are able to understand why I chose this path. I maintain that this is the only way I'll be able to achieve peace. My life now only consists of a meaningless routine sprinkled with some heartfelt loving moments spent with my parents.

I don't hate the Cullens, I don't feel sympathy toward them either. Recently numbness is the way I could describe how I react to them. Of course they just the sight of them shakes me to my very core but my feelings have been deteriorating along with my crumbling will to live. One of the many things I'm curious to know is how they will react to my death. Smugness that their efforts singlehandedly brought someone to their demise or maybe they just play the mourning classmates for a while them move onto their next target. That's one thought that almost makes me reconsider what I'm about to do. It always gave me comfort that at least if all their anger was directed onto me no one else could be on the receiving end of their wrath. I've never been very religious but I do pray to however is up in the great unknown to keep some of the increasingly sensitive members of the community safe. I can't even begin to ponder the thought of one of those fragile freshman like Ben or Eric falling victim to the Cullens. I've developed a thick skin growing up the shy unassuming bookworm but those sweet boys are just too trusting and easily breakable for their own good.

There seems to be a subtle way to decipher how far each student at Forks takes the Cullen's opinions to heart. The wannabes follow them around portraying the look of an abandoned puppy , they try to create clever insults to back up the Cullen's actions but only fail and seem to spew rejects from the Cullen's pile of humiliating jibes. The majority ignore my existence altogether to avoid any kind of association with the freak and risk isolation from their judgemental peers. There are a select few who I have had to forbid from intervening as not to put their lives on the line. Those who want nothing more than to stand up for me and put a stop to this once and for all. Although it may sound unbelievable but I am capable of standing up for myself and I would have if I truly believed that it would make a substantial difference. Trying to confront them would just add fuel to their fire of hatred for me, it's already burning bright enough to last me a life time.

I've always been hyper sensitive to the people around me and my environment , I was born a month premature therefore there has been distance between my peers and I since birth. I was too fragile to roughhouse with the boys but detested the idea of being the girl's tiny little dolly who they could dress up without her permission. Consequently that just left me observing them, how they communicated with one another, how their body language displayed their hidden emotions so evidently and the ever changing things that seemed to amuse them. They were all open books to me, some just took reading between the lines to understand how they tick. I believe the Cullens are like that, they have hidden stories underneath all their spiteful words. It's just too bad I never got a chance to read them. I know it sounds cliché however I could spent the entire day perched up in a tree branch , my sketch book tucked under my arm taking note of my surroundings and the happenings that occur. If we only took some time out of our hectic schedules to take in the planet we live on we might just appreciate it more. I told you I was raised by hippies.

I'm at great believer in destiny. Maybe it was my destiny to come to Forks and face the Cullens. I hope it was for a good cause like protecting someone who could have been under their control before and with my arrival they were given an escape. Possibly it was so the Cullens could have a release for their rage now then when they grew older they are able to have happy, content lives without this anger eating them up inside. If my life is just a stepping stone for someone to get back in the right direction, to have the chance at a life free of regret but a live fulfilled with hope and love then so be it.

If only my whole body agreed, my gulity conscience has only helped sleep escape me further each terror filled night, now I'm just counting down the days now, two to go.


	3. Chapter 3

To truly escape in a book can only be described as reliving the adventures, the thoughts and the feelings that crowded the author's head as each word was scribbled down. To me each book I read is a new perspective on life, every experience they had through their eyes there for you to read and ingest. Not only that but any interest you have there's a book full to the brim of information, first hand accounts and ideas each with their own personal touch. How every single person on earth does not have their head submerged in a book is beyond me. I suppose as individuals we all response differently to separate forms of entertainment. For some dance can tell an entire story just through movement, others may see the emotion poured into each stroke of the brush in a painting or even something as simple as some notes written down on a page hastily can depict the motivation they seek every day just to get out of bed. That is one of the may things about our society that not only confuses the hell out of me but merely fuels my curiosity to untangle the mess that is our lives further.

Unfortunately not even the dog eared pages of Jack Kerouac's On the Road can save me from the impending doom of attending the lair of the villainous five headed beast. Recently I've been fabricating more flamboyant names for the Cullens. What can I say reading improves your vocabulary. I gently twist my wrist around to check the time on my Dad's ancient watch he inherited from my Grandfather George. 8:11, exactly 44 minutes until first period starts. Any minute now Mom will come twirling out almost tripping over the delicate woven dress that swings around her feet like leaves fluttering in the wind. Whistling another tune she composed this morning, presumably at the crack of dawn while on one of her famous sunrise nature walks. My Mom has repeatedly followed the idea that the greatest sights are those that are rarely seen and only shown to those search for them.

As if I can predict the future I can hear the faint sound of a broken song drift through the dense forest trees a companied by the comforting crunch of dry leaves beneath my Mom's no doubt bare feet. "Bumblebee? Honey, it's time for you to attend that oppressive, cold, neglectful prison they call a school." Well that's my Mother for you, if she had her way school would have been abolished years ago and replaced with teaching children how to survive off the land. My Dad however feels as though I need social interaction with more than just my parents and the inhabitants of the forest. As a family we've permanently been connected with nature, if we're not knee deep in clay or paint, lost in a pile of novels or producing a concoction of some kind you'll find us wondering round a forest, crossing a river or even napping in a meadow.

"Coming Mom, whose truck am I taking today?" I swipe at tendril of hair that flaps against my pearl pale face and securely tuck the worn book under my bare arm then begin the descent down from the aged tree. I mange to make it down only securing a slight cut on the inside of my cramped leg where my lengthy skirt, embroidered with wild flowers and vines, had ridden up to my calf. Just as I rearrange my skirt I sense my Mom and spin on my own bare heel to greet her. My Mother to me had never aged, she remained the youthful nineteen year old girl fresh out of high school nursing her newborn baby. Now at thirty five she didn't look a day over twenty, thanks to our lifestyle of course.

"You can take mine today Bumblebee. Daddy and I are going to meet after work and pick up some supplies for the sculpture." My parents constantly had a different project in the works. This month they were constructing a life size phoenix assembled entirely out of outdated library books throw out in exchange for the updated versions. I've been told that it symbolises forgotten memories and how when least expected they will be revived to bring joy around again. I still have yet to see the formidable phoenix and never will. Nowadays it seems that everything is just another event I'm never going to be able to witness. Thoughts like that burden my mind with no foreseeable end so the only way to elude them is to shut my overactive brain down.

"Thanks Mom. Where's Dad now?" I try desperately to dodge her perseptive gaze by allowing my uncooperative hair to mask my sorrowful expression. Two measly days, fourty eight hours, two thousand eight hundred and eighty minutes to say goodbye. No amount of days would grant me the time needed for an adequate farewell to the two humans who have kept me alive and not just an empty shell of a being, been more loving, more caring and more compassionate than I have ever deserved. "He's watering the flowerbeds, you know how downhearted he gets at the thought of any living being coming to harm under his protection. " To further my disguise I join her as she proceeds to release her lighthearted musical chuckle. The sound conceals the melancholy sob that flys from my traitorous mouth. After much consideration keeping my disloyal emotions in check has to be the most strenuous task. I'm forcefully shaken from my self pitying trance as my Mom lovingly grasps my cheek in her soft palm.

"Honey, I can sense you're not yourself at the moment. Do you want me to call in to that wretched place so you can have a home day?" My Mother, bless her, really is the definition of a Mother bear protecting her young at any cost. If only she knew how untrue her statement is. This is what I've become, this is the new me. It's funny to me that a 'new me' is considered a positive transformation. A 'new me' for the new year a chance to be the person you've always envisioned yourself becoming. I would never in my wildest fantasies wish this life on anyone including the Cullens. I don't imagine many other victims share my sentiments though .

"Momma I'm just being over dramatic , it's almost the anniversary of when we first moved here so I might be suffering from a ridiculous case of home sickness." I muster up my best reminiscent smile with a half hearted far away look in my eyes to match. I've not yet used this reason to excuse my out of character behaviour and with the timing it could not be more perfect. I obverse how hesitate she is to accept my explanation but believes I would seek comfort in my Mother if I truly craved it. No one wills it to be that simple again more than me. If I could just take cover in my parent's sweet embrace imitating my solution to all my childhood pains so all the insults hurled at me and the ache of my body meeting the impenetrable ground would just vanish. If things were that simple after the first offensive comments were dished out my parents would of had a lap full of a weeping girl to console. Expect returning home to the faithful faces of my doting parents and then have to tarnish their hope of a fresh start was too much to bare for my fourteen year old self.

"If you insist! Come on then, say goodbye to Daddy before you leave." She jokingly winks her animated serene eyes at me to an attempt to lighten the dragging mood. It works. My Dad says it one of the infinite attributes of my Mother he fell intensely in love with. Her superpower of being able to influence the mood of any situation no matter how low spirited. Where ever my Mother goes she is not only trailed by my Father but also a lightness showering her that no one can resist smiling at. Mom clasps my undersized hand in her warm hold and playful drags me toward our cozy cottage. With each naked step dread replaces the optimism I had for today, one step closer to the Cullens is one step closer to hell.

"Bumblebee, they you are! Get over here and give your old Dad a hug before you leave." My Father's throaty voice brings me to the realisation that we've made it back home already. As per usual his shoulder length hair is tied back in a low lying ponytail at the nape of his neck. His wild untamed beard is as free as the wind that it sways in, he opens his rugged arms in an inviting embrace awaiting my presence. I exchange a quick glance with my Mom before dropping her delicate hand. Muscular arms swaddle me against a snug chest that belongs to my half of my greatest inspiration. "Yep, there is officially nothing else on earth that can compare to hugging my precious little girl." Again I choke back the inevitable sobs that want nothing more than to flee the cage of my mouth. Where my Mother was prepared to deal with an upset and emotionally distraught Bella , my Dad was comforting me through joy, anger, pain and fear without evening being aware of it. By far he was the all round rock of our compact little family.

"As much as I'm enjoying this Sweetie you gotta go get your stuff for school," He unwinds one arm to confirm the time. "It's 8:25 you might want to get a wriggle on." As he says this my Father pulls me back carefully to examine my face and wiggles his top lip causing a zig zag pattern to be portrayed in its wake. I reward him with a carefree giggle something that only occurs around him. Nodding while I peel back from the secure bed of my Father's arms I turn and trot toward the rustic cottage door. As I go I notice my a Mother has departed I assume she's also readying herself for the day ahead. Presumably the preparations will be considerably different. Hers probably don't involve bringing a spare set of clothes with her in case if her peers decide she needs a makeover out of the cafeteria's daily stock.

"Bumblebee!" I twist around just in time to catch the keys that are catapulted toward me. "I filled her up last night so she should be good for today." A perfect example of my Dad's subtle ways of protecting his girl when he can't be there in person. His acts of gentle protection only make me contemplate his reaction to my death even more. How he is proud to call me his daughter I will never understand?

Another thing I find amusing is how at one time in your life you've probably been asked if you'd like to know how you will die or when you will die. I know both and it doesn't bring any comfort just anticipation. Death is a sensitive subject for the majority of people, although having never been close to any of my deceased relatives their deaths never impacted me as I was lead to believe they would. I take ease in the idea that now I won't ever have to experience the deaths of the two people who a make up my entire world. That would almost certainly leave me dead inside.

Time to face the music. Just think this time in two days I will never have to live in distress about how to reduce time spent in the Cullen's view , no more panic at how to camouflage their latest escapades, no more night terrors of what could be worse than last time. In two days time I'll be free of the confining chains that once held me to the pit of despair that once was known as my pathetic life. The Cullens better throw all their final punches because soon there will be no punching bag left.


	4. Chapter 4

Growing up my family has had a consist love of 1970's chevy trucks. Before I popped up they were the babies of the family, one indulgence my parents were more than happy to splurge on. My mother's current mode of transport was a 1970 Chevy CST/ 10 pickup and I must admit nothing beats a Swan family road trip to where ever she feels like in the moment. Whether that be the furthest beach she can find from this dreary town or an unforeseen concert that we just have to experience. They represent Swans better than anything other symbol, sturdy, resilient and above all loyal. I guess this confirms I'm a traitor to my name. A strong, loving name I don't deserve to carry. Nowadays names still hold a heavy impression in a first meeting, much like your appearance. If you're a descendant of a seasoned name you're automatically gifted a respect that others would have to gain through years of strenuous graft. There's no time to dwell on that sudden realisation as the boisterous truck alerts the car lot full of gossip hungry students to my unruly arrival.

Everyone bares witness as Swan clumsily manoeuvres her elderly truck into the lonely space reserved for Fork's resident reject. The parking space couldn't of benefitted me further. It defends Mom's truck from the unpredictable weather under shelter from the towering sky high trees and located at the closest exit from the lot it serves for a clean get away. By now I'm certain the devils are aware of my entry into their domain. As soon as I ventured across the safety of the border I entered their territory. Now vulnerable to their strikes my walls return to their rightful place caging me from the fierce outside world. My senses are on overdrive, I've got to keep my wits about me, one slip is all it takes to amp up my inevitable onslaught. I'm all but drowning in the suspense, I know they adore holding this power over my head. In the past I've spent countless hours and unimaginable minutes stuck on why they would want to treat another human being like this. The answer: there is not a plausible warrant I can even comprehend. Call me close minded yet I can't muse an upbringing where their actions are considered acceptable in any way, shape or form.

From what I hear they live extremely comfortable lives. All adopted by Mr and Mrs Cullen, a wealthy surgen who's renowned for his professionalism and grace, and his stay at home wife Esme, a force to be reckoned with when hosting a charity gala. Esme had invited my parents and I previously to one of her legendary princess gown and monkey suit events. However having to conversate with pretentious arrogant philanthropists who believe the people whose lives were saved with their undeserved money should kiss the ground they walk on, did not sit well with any of us. We politely declined stating that we had a prior engagement involving a roaring campfire and endless amounts of reminiscing about the unforgettable adventures we'd been on. Soon after we were greeted with an increased quantity of inquisitive stares, I imagine the population of Forks didn't take too kindly to the new folks denying the notorious Cullens their every wish.

Abruptly the atmosphere evolves into a sense of deadly expectation with a whisper of fearful exhilaration for the events about to unfold. Footsteps with such synchronisation they would rival a highly disciplined marching army, stride in my unfortunate direction. All hope for a reasonable last few days of existence is diminished in this very second. Without a shadow of a doubt I trust the brutes have chosen today's itinerary of which venomous deeds they will force me to bear. I'm aware that I say I have chosen to take my life however is it really a choice if there aren't any other available options?

"Only two minutes to first bell Swan, you're late." I keep my surprise at being knocked out of my hazy daydream hidden. It's at this moment that prying herd of eager students ,keen to get the first scoop of what the freak is going to be put through today, make themselves known. I reason that each show needs its audience. The golden haired she devil takes the initiative to begin today's assassination of any existing optimism. "Oh don't be too hard on her. The brainless bitch probably chained herself to some tree in a protest and couldn't escape." Her derogatory words are rewarded with a wave of snide giggles then hushed laughter as a new attacker proceeds to belittle me. "Well Rose, we all know that chaining herself to a living thing is the only way she could get it to stick around." A chorus of loud obnoxious snorts echo around the packed car lot in reply.

Even from the beginning of my torment I always wondered how such cruel, harsh words could surge from such devastatingly handsome beings. It is just wrong to vandalise their external ethereal beauty with the rage that obviously boiled inside. I can only compare it to angels doing the work of the devil. Their magnificence out shown by the underlying evil from within.

My mind endeavours to ignore their childish insults, at least until I can wallow in solitude and isolation without a single witness to my pitiful misery. On the other hand my body betrays me instantaneously. It welcomes defeat in the form of sinking shoulders no physical defence left to demolish, head tilted toward the dull ground and thick curtains of hair cover my pathetic face in a bid to conceal the building up of my useless tears. They knew I cried, I'm not sure if I should be pleased or angered that my tear streaked face made no difference to further nor end their tirades. "I don't know Edward with all that hippie shit she practices, who knows, she may have some kind of curse that forces people to stay around her." As I formerly mentioned the Cullens although witty and charming weren't the sharpest tools in the box. Though that doesn't mean it pains me any less. It's saddening that all Alice's endless enthusiasm and energy are used as weapons rather than for something with a more positive effect.

"Makes sense why the maggot's insane parents stick around!" Words like those only reinforced the harmful doubts that are already infecting my poisoned brain. A negative mind will never give a positive life, a statement I try to uphold, however it is easier said than done. Well now they've all said their piece hopefully they'll retain the rest of their barbaric entertainment for later. Ideally when I've had a chance to liberate the crippling emotions that wound me from the inside.

As per usual the Cullens are flanked by their wannabe second in command, Lauren Mallory and Jessica Stanley. Strangely enough I felt no ill will toward these girls, they are succumbing to the natural human urge to be accepted. They had actually been surprisingly welcoming during my first few hours at Forks High, of course that was before I was deemed unworthy of any respect. The Cullens didn't have to beg for attention or the admiration people seemed to ooze in their presence. They know their value and so does anyone who has come into contact with them. Not just anyone could afford the luxury of their company which meant everyone craved it. This partly why I don't hold the other students liable for what they do, they can either conform to the Cullens or become a misfit in the public eye. Rejection is one of the biggest (if not the biggest) fear as humans we have. Facing rejection from loved ones, society or even our own minds. If we don't mirror the image we create of how one should behave, dress, speak or feel we reject any hope of having a future until it is corrected.

I see Rosalie go to take an additional stab at me, her petite mouth curved into a sinister smirk with her painted lips slighty parted making way for another offensive comment her despicable mind generated. If I only had one opportunity to speak as an equal with Rosalie I would say 'Be sure to taste your words before you spit them at me'. Not that I believe it may make a difference. She is the epitome of confidence, when she struts into a room she demands attention, it's impossible not to be spellbound by her splendour. She is set in her stubborn ways and to modify them would be no task for the fainthearted.

My luck takes a turn for the best as I'm saved by the screeching ring of the historic school bell. My relief is shortlived, Rosalie will not be pleased her mocking of me was interupted, furthermore this means she will proceed to invent an even more ghastly punishment as a result. This seems like a reoccurring theme nowadays my happiness being momentary. As though they rehearsed it, the Culllens all pivot in perfect formation on the heels of no doubt designer shoes and what can only be described as catwalk over to the worn out entrance of the school, fracturing the border of disappointed spectators as they go. The crowd left hungry for more drama swiftly disperses, trailing in the wake of their leaders.

I debate whether to retreat into the security of the tempting truck. It's unique alluring aroma of Mom's homemade rose petal perfume exquisitely blended with Dad's musky oak wood scent are almost enough to brainwash me into thinking it would be a fine solution to cower in the backseat all day. I used to pride myself on my independence, now look at me, I can't even make it through one day of school without mewling like an abandoned kitten. My Dad always had this talent of being able to match a person's personality with that of an animal. My Mom apparently had a spirit of an excitable squirrel. She had a need to prepare for all uncertain events, she was nimble, agile and equipped to make friends at any time. The exact opposite of Dad. As for me I was likened to a wolf cub. Thrived in a pack of close trusted loved ones, not quite ready to leave the den and sometimes overestimates her strength by taking on more than she can chew. Of course that rings true now more than ever.

With that in mind I force back the enticing image of being curled up in the plush backseat blankets and instead make my way into the building of my nightmares. Someone up there may be looking out for me, the Culllens and I didn't have a single class together other than gym which regularly skipped out on with the approval of my parents who didn't find it a necessity (especially my Mother). I assume that all my test scores are reiterated back to them if they are running low on reasons to fuel their hatred.

As much as I'd like to spend my last few days on earth not giving a damn what the Cullens do to me, I can't. My brain seems to be rewired to try and calculate their next steps, where I can stow away at lunch to avoid an unfortunate run in or what lesson they have last so a can estimate how much time I have for a getaway. My wellbeing now revolves around the emotions and whereabouts of five different people who utterly detest me. My good days and bad days are centred and rely on whether my tormentors have discovered anymore justification to why I don't deserve to be on this planet and in their almighty presence.

It's a depressing day when you come to the realisation that you'd rather surrender the company of your loved ones forever than suffer through another day with the people whose ambitions are to make your life a living hell


End file.
